


in the sun

by Sheblet (salem112)



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Gen, a Sister Story, im emo abt my kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 14:30:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8493487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salem112/pseuds/Sheblet
Summary: May Rao’s light shine on you, always.





	

I remember the day you came to us like it was yesterday.

We never celebrated your Gotcha Day – you never wanted to, said it felt too much like celebrating Krypton’s death. The one time we tried going out to dinner on the anniversary of your arrival you’d burst into tears halfway through and it took Mom twenty minutes to get you out of the bathroom.

Though I haven’t always felt this way, and though I know it’s selfish, I’m glad for that day – the day that gave me a little sister.

I didn’t always want a little sister, but then you knew that. When Superman brought you to us you had this very strange air about you – I suppose that’s what happens when you’re an alien. You wore that weird dress, the one with your family’s crest on it, and I knew from that moment that you were gonna stand out wherever you went, and I hated you for it.

I was just a child, of course, and I didn’t understand what it meant to have a purpose, not like I do now. You’d had your purpose torn away, the cousin you were meant to protect had grown up and moved on while you slept, and when you woke there was nothing left for you.

I looked at you, with your downcast eyes and your trembling hands, and I tried picturing you happy, whole, under the light of a red sun. It seemed impossible, especially when you snuck outside and sank to your knees beneath the stars. Mom never knew, but you’ve always been clumsy and I always heard you as you tried shuffling quietly out of our room. I’d look out the window and see you on your knees in the grass. You looked to the sky, as if searching for that dead planet, then you leaned forward, hands pressed firmly to the earth, forehead coming down to meet the grass, as if in prayer.

You did this every night for nearly a year, and I always observed. Sometimes I got the sense I was intruding, but I also felt this helped me get a better sense of you. Most days you were bright, and you refused to dredge up those dark feelings.

At night, under the stars, I saw the real you. Not the weird you, the one who was scared of popcorn makers and who would say shit like “We didn’t have birds back home.” No, this you was older, sadder. More real.

One night, as you prepared to sneak out yet again, I decided enough was enough. It was kind of annoying, always waking up to you knocking something over. The dresser had a large chunk missing from where you repeatedly stubbed your toe. Still not sure how you managed that – you have perfect night vision. Extreme clumsiness has to be a superpower somewhere.

“You can talk about it, if you want,” I said as you sat up in bed, poised to leave. You jumped, and I got satisfaction out of that. It’s not often one gets the jump on an alien with supersenses.

“Your breathing and heart rate indicated you were asleep,” you said hurriedly, not looking at me.

I rolled my eyes. “See, that’s the weird crap you need to avoid saying if you’re gonna fit in. Also, I was sleeping – but you’re not as quiet as you think.”

I couldn’t see your face in the dark, but I knew you were blushing. “Sorry. I’ll stop.”

You laid back down then, stiffly, on your back. Several minutes passed before you said, quiet and strained, “Can you turn on the music?”

I took the remote off my nightstand and clicked on my stereo; Bach began to play softly.

We laid there in silence, symphonies washing over us, until I noticed something peculiar. You were shaking, so hard your bed rattled. I sat up curiously and saw you had your face turned away, but what I could see of it was scrunched with pain. Your hand clutched your shirt over your chest in a tight fist, as if trying to keep your heart from shattering. You were crying, I realized, and sadder still, crying silently, most likely so you wouldn’t disturb me.

I didn’t say anything; I just laid back down. Eventually we both fell asleep. I still regret not saying anything, not comforting you. Though I was older than you, at that time I felt quite young, faced with a tragedy I could not understand.

We never spoke of that night, but I still think of it from time to time, when something brings Krypton’s memory fresh to the surface and you need to take a day to be quiet and remember.

\--

I was never really a good sister, if we’re being honest. I know you try to deny that as often as you can, but it’s true. I’m ashamed to admit it, but for a long time I hated you, and I wasn’t shy about it.

There was that one time, when you’d embarrassed me at school. I honestly don’t even remember what you did, but I’m sure it was something very alien and very you. I dragged you into the girls’ bathroom and let you have it. I yelled, and I pushed and hit you. You didn’t move, of course, didn’t flinch – it was like hitting a brick wall and that just made me angrier – but you looked pained all the same. I didn’t look at you the rest of the day.

One lie to Mom about hurting myself during soccer practice later, as I sat on the couch with a bag of ice on my bruised knuckles, you came and gingerly sat beside me, so light the cushions barely moved, as if you were afraid you might anger me again with just the slightest of moves.

I didn’t say anything. I was sulking. You sat quietly, too, until suddenly and as gently as one handles a newborn baby, you grabbed my wrist and tugged my hand from under the ice so you could examine the damage.

And then, you did something remarkable.

You apologized.

Your eyes darkened the minute they landed on the bruises, and you whispered “I’m so sorry, Alex.” I was the one who couldn’t accept you, who treated you horribly, who had hit you and screamed at you, and you were apologizing.

I’m not sure if you even really remember that day, but it was a turning point for me. It was the moment everything started to change. Looking at your sad, apologetic eyes, it was like I had looked into a mirror – and what I saw disgusted me.

Like I said. I wasn’t a great sister.

But I do my best every day to make up for it.

\--

When Dad died, I started to understand something of what you’d gone through. Granted, you’d lost a whole world, and I’d lost one parent – but to me he was the world, and so it hurt like nothing I’d ever felt before.

It was almost unbearable. Everywhere I looked I saw him; in the backyard building my swingset, in the lab doing experiments with me, at soccer games cheering me on.

And in those glasses you wore, the ones lined with lead, the ones made just for you. I sometimes felt a pang of jealousy when I saw them, but then I remembered that was all you had to remember him by, along with one year of memories. I, on the other hand, had a lifetime – though of course it never felt like enough. There was a Jeremiah-shaped hole in my life, one I didn’t think I was ever gonna be able to repair.

After the funeral I went and sat on one of the swings, on the set he’d made for me when I was five. I tugged uncomfortably at my black dress, but Mom said I wasn’t allowed to change until all the guests had left.

I was hiding, but it didn’t take you long to find me. It never did. You came and sat on the second swing next to me, your glasses fogged. It had been raining, and moisture clung to the lenses, but the light of your blue eyes still bore through.

“You okay?” you asked. You were great during the whole process, running back and forth between Mom and me, making sure we were okay, checking if we needed anything. You’ve always been caring, but that was the first time I really got to see it.

“Yeah,” I laughed bitterly, because I wasn’t really in the mood to talk to you or your special glasses. “I’m doing great.”

Surprisingly you smirked – surprising because you often still had trouble with English sarcasm. “I get that. I of all people should know how annoying that question is. But, just… if you wanna talk, I’m here.”

I deflated, guilt icing my veins. You were just trying to help. That’s all you ever wanted to do was help.

“Thanks, Kara, but I’m not really up to talking right now. I kinda just wanna be left alone.”

You nodded quickly, standing in such a rushed way that the swing flew back behind you, then came back with a vengeance, smacking into you. You didn’t even register the contact as you hesitated, looking at me uncertainly. I tried to ignore you but you seemed conflicted.

Suddenly, you were in front of me – superspeed still gets me to this day – your eyes soft. You reached up to cup my face and your hands were incredibly warm despite the chilly outside temperature. You leaned in and fiercely and lovingly, you placed a kiss on my forehead.

“May Rao’s light shine on you, always,” you whispered into my hair. Then, you were gone.

At the time I didn’t know much about Rao or Kryptonian religion, and yet I still felt that power, that love, and I was suddenly warm inside.

I couldn’t fill the Dad-shaped hole in my life, but I could feel a new one forming; one that was filled with you.

\--

You stand before me now, and you are not a little girl anymore. You’re big, and strong, and your family’s crest is worn proudly on your chest. Sometimes, I think you don’t need me anymore. You’re so strong, physically, that it’s hard to remember that on the inside, you are just as human as any of us.

So when you show up at my apartment one night, tear-streaked and distraught, I’m momentarily floored until I remember what day it is. Of course. There’s never any telling what the anniversary of that day will hold. Sometimes you work yourself silly as Supergirl and Kara Danvers, so that you can fall into that dreamless sleep that only comes from bone-deep exhaustion. Other times, you hole yourself up in your apartment, only to emerge the next day as if nothing has happened.

But today is different. I’m not sure what it is – it’s like trying to determine why a comet changes course. All I know is that you need your sister.

And though I know it’s selfish, I’m glad for this day – the day that brings my little sister home to me.

After hours of talking you finally wear yourself out, and you doze on my shoulder. I’m not willing to move just yet, taking this time instead to appreciate the warmth and weight of you close to me. It is grounding, in a way, which is ironic considering you came from the stars.

You start shuddering in that dangerous way that implies a nightmare, and I tighten my grip. I press my lips to your hair and whisper that age-old prayer.

“May Rao’s light shine on you, always.”


End file.
